Press

Chapter 8: Jealousy Peaks

It was a typical lunch hour in the White House Mess, a place where casual conversations mixed with political chatter. Damon, Parker, and a few colleagues sat around a circular table, laughing over a joke Parker had just made.

"Come on, you've gotta admit that press briefing yesterday was a trainwreck," Parker teased, nudging Damon with his elbow, a playful smirk tugging at his lips.

Damon shook his head, laughing. "It wasn't that bad. Not all of us can charm the room like you."

"Oh, but if you had my charm, you'd never get a word of work done." Parker shot back, his smile bright and easy, drawing more laughter from the table.

Their colleagues enjoyed the banter, but Bryson, sitting a few tables away, was less amused. He watched them closely, his eyes narrowing every time Parker's hand lingered a second too long on Damon's arm, or when Parker leaned in a little closer than necessary. The way Parker's hand brushed Damon's when he handed him a file earlier that morning hadn't gone unnoticed either. Bryson's chest tightened with jealousy, an emotion he thought he'd buried long ago.

"You coming to the meeting later?" Damon asked Parker as they finished up their lunch.

"Wouldn't miss it for the world," Parker replied, flashing Damon that same charming smile that made Bryson's blood boil.

As they walked down the hallway, Parker let his hand briefly rest on Damon's back, sending a silent message that only Damon could understand. Damon glanced at him, a mix of exasperation and amusement in his eyes, but he didn't pull away. Parker, ever the charmer, winked before walking ahead to open the door to the Press Briefing Room, leaving Damon to follow, the air between them charged with an energy neither was ready to address openly.

After the press briefing, Bryson lingered near the exit, his eyes fixed on Damon's retreating figure. Damon sensed Bryson before he even spoke.

"We need to talk," Bryson's voice cut through the bustling hallway, flat but tinged with something darker. It was not a request—it was a demand. Without waiting for Damon's acknowledgment, Bryson turned on his heel and strode towards his office, leaving Damon no choice but to follow.

As they entered Bryson's office, the air thickened. The walls were lined with memorabilia—photos with senators, campaign posters, and framed handshakes with political power players. But today, it felt oppressive, a cage of ambition. Damon could sense the tension crackling in the air, a storm brewing, and he braced himself.

Bryson slammed the door shut and wasted no time, the bitterness in his voice unmistakable. "What's going on with you and Parker?"

The question shot out like an accusation. Damon, unguarded but still composed, kept his face impassive, even though a wave of unease washed over him.

"What do you mean?" Damon asked, his voice measured, though inside, his nerves began to fray.

Bryson's lips twisted into a scowl. "You know exactly what I mean," he spat, his voice rising. "I see the way he looks at you. The way you look at him. Are you two... involved?"

Damon crossed his arms defensively, maintaining his composure even as he felt Bryson's words push against the walls he had carefully built around his heart. "This isn't any of your business. Whatever you think you've seen, it's not relevant to our work here."

Bryson stepped closer, his eyes darkened with jealousy. His voice shook with barely controlled anger. "Not my business? I thought we had something. I thought we were special. And now I see you with him?" His voice cracked slightly, and Damon could hear the vulnerability beneath the anger, seeping through like water through a crack in stone. "After everything we went through?"